Snape's Story
by izeebella
Summary: Through the Mirror of Erised and the Pensieve Snape's concise life story is told, an explanation of why he's kinda evil and obsessed with dark arts. Please read and review.


_I thought I'd try my hand at a Harry Potter story. Please read and review, even if you think it's really bad. I can take it._

The room was dark, narrow and gloomy, with no windows. It was empty, except for a tall, thin mirror in the middle, and a tall, thin man who stood before it. His black hair hung over his eerily pale face, hiding the expression in his dark brown eyes. He was staring intently into the mirror in front of him, but the reflection in the mirror was not of a cold-hearted man in a dark room. It was of a small boy, gazing back at the man with a happy smile on his face. The boy had fair skin that glowed with good health, and jet-black hair that shone slightly. Behind him stood two adults, a man and a woman, holding hands and smiling lovingly at each other. The woman was elegant and well-groomed, the man tall and handsome in a slightly intimidating way. They both had their free hand resting on the boys shoulder, and all three of them smiled at the man from another world who was intruding on their happy gathering. And if you didn't know better, you would have sworn that as the boy and his parents smiled happily in the mirror, a tear rolled down Severus's cheek.

You can tell a lot about a person from what they want. Not the silly frivolous things, like a new mobile or and ipod. These aren't really what we want. They're what we would like. I mean "nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts." If you can see a person's memories and a person's desires then you know everything about that person.

Harry looked down at Snape's silver Pensieve, took a deep breath and plunged his head in.

A little boy of about four with black hair cowered in a corner as the man and woman from the mirror fired jinxes at each other. Then the man yelled the two words Harry never wanted to hear again.

"Avada Kedavra"

The woman lay on the ground, an expression of rage, fear and sadness in her now unmoving eyes. The boy cried in the corner, too afraid to run to his mother, knowing that there was nothing he could do.

There was another swirl of silvery-grey and the same boy was standing next to a cell. He was older now, his expression changed from scared to sullen and despondent. Behind the bars was his father. A Dementor glided by in the background, and Harry felt a stab of recognition. Azkaban prison. Then the world erupted into swirls again, and when it settled Harry was in house.

The boy was seven or eight, and his hair was longer, covering his eyes. An older girl was taunting him, calling him all sorts of names. She looked a little like him. Her hair was also dark, her eyes the same mysterious brown that was so close to black. She could have been a cousin, or even a sister. She was making fun of where is father was, teasing him for being small, laughing because he had no mother. The boy was crying again, the tears you cry when you're ashamed of crying, which makes you cry even more. Harry sat watching, wanting to do something to change it, to help him, anything. Then once again came the swirly silver, and a new scene.

The boy was ten or eleven now, and the girl was teasing him again. But this time he was ready. He whipped out a wand and hit her with the bat-bogey hex. As Harry studied his face he was sure there was still a little fear and hurt in those intriguing eyes, but there was also satisfaction.

After the world had turned grey again Harry saw a different sigh before him. A teenager boy with black hair of about seventeen, bent over a book called "101 Dark Curses for your Worst Enemy". On the page there were harms that fired acid into your enemies eye socket, and one to turn them into stone.

As the young Snape practised one of the spells the picture dissolved and in its place was an older Severus. He was talking to a hooded figure with his or her back turned. Harry couldn't hear the words. There must have been some kid of charm so that they could only be heard by the intended listener. But what frightened Harry was the face that was revealed when the hooded figure turned around to smile at Snape. A pale face with cruel eyes. Voldemort.

Harry shuddered, and was almost relieved when the scene faded and a young Hogwarts professor stood before him, face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

"But Sir!"

"Quiet, Severus. You know that with your record I cannot allow you to teach Defence against the Dark Arts at this school. Mr Quirrel will make a fine teacher for now."

Harry frowned at the memory of exactly how fine Quirrel had been. Then he felt an impossibly real hand grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him out of the Pensieve.

"Potter, that's a month of detentions you foul sneaky little worm," Snape yelled at him. Harry just stared at him.

"How old were you when your mother was killed, professor?" asked Harry sympathetically. Snape glared at him poisonously.

"You little- how dare- argh! Get. Out," He said, his words and eyes like daggers aimed at Harry. But as Harry hastily left the room, he was sure he saw something wet and glistening in the corner of Snape's eye.


End file.
